The three Franks

Back in the day a couple of Franks were casting quite a shadow over the Royal City. A third Frank was probably casting an even bigger shadow in certain neighbourhoods, but I’m talking about the other guys, the German-speaking ones who got off the boat in the middle fifties to make their way in the new world.

And make their way they did!

By the time I hit high-school age, Frank’s place was where you could land a job the day you dropped out of high-school at age 15. Frank had a little machine shop out the Silvercreek Extension which was rapidly becoming a factory. He needed factory hands, and those hands didn’t need to be holding no damned high-school diploma, thank-you very much!

Nosiree! Frank built his business on square dealing and rock bottom wages. That’s not as bad as it sounds. Back in the day you could buy a house and raise a family on a rock bottom wage.

Other Frank was from out of town but still cast a shadow in my hometown. Other Frank was busy buying up damned near everything auto-parts related. One of the local guys sold him his fledgling press-building business for ten million. A few years later, when Magna was on the ropes, he bought it back for one million.

But don’t shed any tears for other Frank, he’s done OK. More than OK. That’s why it’s so sad to see his name in the news today. He’s suing his daughter for half a billion, accusing her of messing up the family fortune. That’s gotta be a heartbreak for all concerned.

Makes you wonder, don’t it? You generally want to believe that a stand-up guy raised up stand-up kids. I still want to believe that about him. Makes you wonder if he’s still got all the marbles rolling in the same direction.

Other Frank hasn’t had the ignominious distinction of suing his daughter for half a billion, but he’s had his own tragedy in what was supposed to be his golden years. Spent five years putting up a fabulous mansion right in behind his old mansion out on the Silvercreek Extension. Not that there was anything wrong with the first one, but rumour had it he wanted a house in the same league as Stronach’s. He got it.

Unfortunately, his wife passed on before it was finished. He’s got ten thousand feet of neo-classical European villa all to himself now.  That’s gotta suck.

Third Frank didn’t live to suffer the indignities of advanced years. He passed on while out for a jog while still in his early fifties. That was a humbling end to a hard-edged life. I guess every “end” is humbling in its way.

But it must have been especially humbling for third Frank. Not that he would give a shit; he was dead! I knew a guy who had a bit of a disagreement with Frank. Frank called him in for a chat. That was a nice gesture on Frank’s part. It meant he really deep-down liked you. Otherwise he’d just send a couple of guys over to bust your legs.

So in the course of the chat Frank reached into a drawer and pulled out a fistful of thousand dollar bills. This was when a thousand bucks was still serious money. He ripped them in half and handed one handful to the guy who told me this story.

“I’ll give you the other half when you do what I’m asking you to do,” he says.

Not long after, he went for his last jog.